


Three blon- brats walk into a bar...

by MyFandomCausesHanaji



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Naruto, Original Work, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: "four rooms" like mood, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Blind Date, Crack, Crossover, Gen, Humor, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, You don't have to be familiar with Devilman Crybaby to read this, but i tried, not really cause I'm not a genius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFandomCausesHanaji/pseuds/MyFandomCausesHanaji
Summary: Three blonds walked into a bar.In fact, there were four of them, and theFrom Sancho to Eternity, where Sammy was a manager, a cook and a waiter at the same time, was actually a small cafe, serving mostly simple sandwiches and cupcakes, that Sammy was buying in the bakery nearby.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I know, that no one likes crossovers, but here me out, 'kay?
> 
> This is an experiment of a sort. If you read my other fics, you'll see that this one has entirely different style. Which is a pain in the ass to write, and also I am not even sure if people will like it (the style), so that's why, instead of making it into a oneshot, as I first intended to do, I'm splitting it into small chapters. 
> 
> This is an AU outside of all universes of all 4 canons, plus characters never met. Told from OMC's POV. Names are not mentioned, but the characters are perfectly recognizable.
> 
>  **You don't have to be familiar with _Devilman Crybaby_ to read this!** Main focus will be on SasuNaru, RoyEd and Otayuri. 
> 
> Underlined words in the text lead to pictures. 
> 
> This is the closest I've ever come to writing an original work, and I'm actually nervous posting it. Especially considering that it is not finished yet. 
> 
> This was vaguely inspired by the movie "Four rooms", that I love from the bottom of my heart.

Three blonds walked into a bar.

In fact, there were four of them, and the  _ From Sancho to Eternity _ , where Sammy was a manager, a cook and a waiter at the same time, was actually a small cafe, serving mostly simple sandwiches and cupcakes, that Sammy was buying in the bakery nearby. 

Sammy had gotten the place from his father, who’d received it from  _ his  _ father long before Sammy was born. Neither Sammy’s dad, nor his grandpa’s names were Sancho, but everyone in Sammy’s family was giving an impression that they perfectly knew who the mysterious Sancho from the cafe’s name was, so Sammy had never dared to query and demonstrate his own ignorance. He quickly learnt to smile secretively every time someone would ask what the name meant, and after a year of working at this place and about a hundred identical questions he’d received from curious customers, Sammy had gotten a suspicion, that the knowing smile his mom would always wear on her face while talking about “our Sancho” like it was not a piece of property but a real person, was probably meant to hide her own lack of any knowledge of Sancho’s identity. 

Accepting that he had been probably deceived for his whole life, Sammy easily slipped in the role his father used to have before a heart attack forced him to retrieve from any potentially stressful activity. After a week of his work in this place, Sammy had started to understand the special treatment “Sancho” had been always receiving from his parents ― the cafe was like an old, senile and completely useless relative you didn’t even love but couldn’t rid yourself from. It had been stalling ever since Sammy could remember, but somehow always managed to get just enough profit to make any thought of selling the place cause a sharp bite of guilt.

He had a suspicion, that Sancho might have been his very distant  [ relative ](http://rickandmorty.wikia.com/wiki/Rick_Sanchez) somewhen from a couple of hundred years ago, and the  _ Eternity _ in the name was his snide way of saying, that Sammy’s family would have to deal with the cafe for as long humanity lasts.

In fact, Sammy was convinced that  _ From Sancho to Eternity _ was definitely cursed. It wasn’t located in any notable ― in a good or a bad way ― part of the town, but somehow managed to lure in its shabby walls all kinds of shady elements and weird folks. Sammy couldn’t remember when it was the last time when he had a customer that could fit in a vague definition of normality, be it their looks or behavior. Even the most unsuspiciously looking ones would eventually start a fight with other customers or demonstrate their weirdness in some, usually not very safe way. 

So he didn’t expect anything good, when one evening the door to the cafe opened and a guy in a white coat that was at least three sizes bigger than it was supposed to, and was definitely hiding a whole arsenal underneath ― Sammy had had his share of dealing with folks like that ― entered the cafe. He had a bowl haircut, that type that makes even the most beautiful person look like a rustic fool and never suits anyone no matter what they do. The guy, though, wore the most idiotic haircut humanity had ever invented like a  [ halo ](https://pre00.deviantart.net/270b/th/pre/i/2018/159/a/b/_ryo_asuka____devilman_crybaby__by_skullysnot-dcdvj0f.png) , light blond hair and pale but piercing blue eyes with long eyelashes playing their role in creating the image of probably the most beautiful person Sammy had ever seen. Shame, the guy was, in fact, a  _ guy _ , and Sammy was as straight as die [ * ](http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/as-straight-as-a-die.html) ― no shame here. 

The Guy-with-definitely-a-gun-under-his-coat slowly walked to Sammy with that air of confidence around him as if he owned not just this place, which he obviously didn’t, but the rest of the world, and here Sammy wouldn’t risk to bet his monthly wage ― sure someone who might own the whole world could allow themselves act on their whims, and if today it was a visit to the old cafe with a shady reputation, Sammy definitely was not the one to judge. Though the guy was, perhaps, noone, and the vibe of a big shot around him was probably nothing but a mask. 

Sammy knew the type ― they were either the calmest customers or the most troublesome ones, depending on the level of correlation between their belief-to-be-the-king-of-the-world and the actual percentage of the world owning. Unfortunately, it was never possible to predict what type it would be. And more unfortunately ― and rather logically ― in most cases they would turn out to be the second one. Sammy mentally congratulated himself, that he hadn’t forgotten to pay for the insurance this year.

The Guy-with-definitely-a-gun-under-his-coat-or-maybe-even-two threw a glance at the cakes display and then, with a chilling smile, looked up at Sammy, who was standing behind the counter. 

“I’ll take tea.” He looked behind Sammy at a few tables the small cafe had, and added, “I’ll sit in that corner. I’m meeting with someone, but they are running late.” He returned his gaze at Sammy and smiled wider. If this was an ordinary cafe with ordinary customers, Sammy would be thinking that he had never seen a smile, that was as far from reaching eyes as Sammy was far from becoming a CEO of  _ Facecrabs Of Cloud Eight and Co _ ― the huge chain of fancy and obnoxiously expensive steakhouses, that had its restaurants all over the world and owned the half of other famous restaurant chains and was slowly devouring the other half in its obvious attempt to become a lone owner of the whole food industry on the planet. Surprisingly, neither of the restaurants owned by the corporation served seafood. Sammy even heard some rumors that the said CEO, who supposedly was one of the richest people on the planet, was allergic to crab meat.

Sammy didn’t know if he himself was allergic to crab meat, as his family had never made enough money to actually try the real thing instead of that substitute he bought sometimes in the small supermarket on the corner. It tasted like paper, but it looked almost real, and Sammy couldn’t resist. 

The customer coughed, and Sammy shook himself out of his musings. The guy was waiting patiently, and Sammy didn’t want to see how many guns the huge coat actually had within its folds, if his customer suddenly lost said patience, so he nodded and added the order in the registry. 

“That would be three forty.”

The guy reached somewhere in the folds of his enormous coat, making Sammy tense and reach his hand under the counter, only to remember that he hadn’t fixed the alarm button yet, and in case of the emergency he would have to wait it out lying still under the counter while his customer(s) would be wreaking havoc to his cafe. Again. But against all Sammy’s fear, the guy was simply looking for money, that he fished out of some inner pocket and put down on the counter. 

“Do you have meat on the menu?” he asked suddenly, eyes laughing at some joke only he understood. 

“There are sandwiches with ham,” Sammy answered politely, refraining from mentioning, that if the customer wanted meat, he should’ve probably gone to the  _ Facecrabs Of Cloud Eight and Co _ , that only last month so conveniently opened its doors across the street.

“Hope you have a lot of them,” the Guy-who-thought-he-owned-the-world said with a smile, took his tea, that Sammy automatically prepared while the guy had been looking for money, and left to his table.

A small laptop appeared in front of the guy as if out of nowhere ― probably from another pocket of that ridiculous coat ― and the blond head hid behind the screen. Sammy let out a relieved breath ― this one seemed to be more interested in his work than in anything else, and if the rest of today’s customers would be as peaceful as this one, Sammy might actually end up his shift without calling the cops or fire department.

As soon as he finished thinking that thought, the door opened widely, only an inch not wide enough to let the handle collide with the already present dent in the wall, and the orange tornado flew inside the cafe and almost threw itself across the counter with a loud huff. Two bright blue eyes stared up at Sammy with a plea, and he realised the tornado was in fact a young teenage guy in flashy orange hoodie with even more flashy ― and more orange, as much as it was possible ― print of what looked like a fox with several tails on the front. The  [ boy ](https://isara.us/images/2018/04/uzumaki-naruto-smile-best-pin-by-temari-dc29fc291c291-on-naruto-uzumaki-1-pinterest-of-uzumaki-naruto-smile.jpg) ’s blond hair ― more bright yellow, almost shiny, in fact, than just blond ― was sticking out in all the possible directions, as if its owner just woke up, or, which was more likely judging by the guy’s heavy breathing, had been running for several blocks. 

“Do… you… have… food…”

**_tbc_ **


	2. Chapter 2

“Do… you… have… food…” Sammy’s new customer breathed out and smiled blindly. Quite literally blindly, because the ray of light from the small but fierce lamp with a strange name  _ Jansjö  _ Sammy had bought last year from some shady customer with distant accent and very foreign looks, reflected in the smooth white surface of The Blond #2’s teeth and went straight to Sammy’s eyes. Sammy blinked down a couple of tears and decided to call the new guy Plasma-boy ― Sammy refrained from asking his customers names, and coming up with the names of his own was his small secret pleasure. Secret ― because if some of his customers knew the way he was addressing them in his head, they would’ve fast see to Sammy not having the said head anymore. And “pleasure” ― for the same very reason.

Of course it was easier and perhaps more fitting to name the guy simply  _ Sun _ , but Sammy liked sun, and he didn’t like this guy, because he didn’t like any of his customers and actually hated the job, people, and the play of fate that made him stuck in this place for life, but he once read that there was plasma on the sun’s surface, plus Sammy was a fan of old days comic books, and Plasma-boy sounded like the name some of the heroes in the comics might have. 

The blond guy looked fitting enough to be one of those random lucky (or not, depending on the way you look at it) folks, who by some play of fate obtained super powers along with the blind conviction to be the only ones capable of bringing  [ peace among worlds ](http://tvquotes.co/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/yqInEJL.gif) . Those self-proclaimed super heroes caused Sammy inexplicable irritation, but he couldn’t stop reading those comic books over and over again.

So, Plasma-boy it is then.

Sammy rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and repeated the same phrase he told The Blond #1, who only for a second peeked out from behind the screen to look at the newcomer, and then buried himself in whatever he was doing again. 

“There are sandwiches with ham.” Plasma-boy’s eyes lit up, and Sammy added, pointing at the glass display. “And cakes.”

The boy finally collected himself from where he was half sprawled on the counter, straightened up, and declared loudly,

“I’ll take the sandwitches. All of them!” And grinned again. 

Sammy only tilted one brow in surprise, but otherwise didn’t comment, busy trying to figure out how many sandwiches he could make out of the amount of the ingredients he had back in the kitchen. The calculations didn’t want to sum up peacefully, so he simply combined the prices he had paid for all the needed products, multiplied it thrice and voiced the price to Plasma-boy.

Plasma-boy’s smile faded a bit, but didn’t entirely fell ― Sammy was secretly impressed ― and he began digging inside of the multiple pockets of his jacket and his pants, which, to Sammy’s relief, were not orange, but black, with only several decorative orange stripes on the sides.

A pile of coins and several crumpled bills were put on the counter, and Sammy started counting them, while the boy hummed something thoughtfully to himself, bend down and fished a few more bills from his sock. Sammy took them as well, not really bothered where they had come from ― money was money. Wouldn’t be the first time he was getting paid with the money taken out from weird places ― the customers of  _ From Sancho to Eternity  _ were quite eccentric. 

“Have a seat, I’ll bring you your order as soon as it’s ready,” Sammy told the guy, putting the money in the register. 

Plasma-boy nodded, looked around quickly, threw a curious glance at the Guy-with-a-laptop, chose a table closer to the counter and settled down. 

Sammy sighed and headed to the small kitchen in the back. This Plasma-boy didn’t look as a violent one, but he seemed to be that type of people who would very fast get bored waiting, and if he got bored, he would probably go nag The Blond #1, and Sammy didn’t want The Blond #1 to turn from the Guy-with-a-laptop to the  Guy-with-a-gun, so it was in Sammy’s personal interests to be done with Plasma-boy’s order as fast as possible.

He contemplated whether he should waste precious seconds to wash his hands, decided against it, took the products ― the cheapest cheese and ham that he had been able to find, some salad and tomatoes, that looked like they were frozen and then defrosted, that could actually be true, because the fridge in   _ From Sancho to Eternity _ had seen better days and had stopped working normally long time ago, now alternately raising and suddenly dropping the temperature inside to inappropriate levels, not allowing Sammy to have anything serious on the menu, because normal food would not survive such treatment, not that Sammy was too eager to actually ever use the oven he had here for anything but an extra storage. 

He was finishing a ninth sandwich, when he heard the front door being slammed open, the handle crashing in the opposite wall and probably making the dent there even deeper ― Sammy mentally pet himself on the back for not even attempting to fix it when he last repaired the place. 

Several heavy and angry sounding steps were followed by a low “Oi!” and a palm was slammed on the counter with a sharp clap. Turning around, Sammy mused absentmindedly about his new customer, but what he saw when he exited the kitchen, made him slightly tilt his brow in fast passing surprise. Behind the counter stood the boy with such delicate features, Sammy would have mistaken him for a girl if not for the too low voice and the angry scowl ― not that girls could not scowl, mind you, but Sammy imagined they’d be doing that in a more feminine and adorable way, whatever this way was. The boy was feminine, but was not adorable and was at the very most fourteen years old. His  [ green eyes ](https://animeharbor.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/Yuri-Plisetsky-Yuri-on-Ice.jpg) were squinting at Sammy in a dire attempt to probably burn him on sight, but the effect was ruined by the rest of his face looking like he just stepped out of a fairytale, where he definitely was a fairy, perhaps an evil one, but still a fairy, light blond hair reaching his shoulders only adding to the image. 

Was it the day of blonds perhaps and Sammy had not been warned? And they all seemed to be coming in order of the length of their hair increasing. Who’s next? Rapunzel?

“How may I help you?” Sammy asked politely, completely unimpressed with the boy’s misplaced display of starting to kick in testosterone. 

“Double espresso. If you have espresso in this dump.” The boy huffed and wrinkled his nose in disgust, instantly reminding Sammy of an angry cat. The boy seemed too young to be a full adult cat though, despite him having a whole tiger printed on the front of his black t-shirt, so Sammy titled him simply  _ Kitten _ . The name was probably the most innocent one Sammy had ever given his customers, but he had an impression this Kitten would definitely bite if he learnt the way Sammy was calling him in his head. 

“Three eighty,” Sammy said stretching his hand palm up, not bothering to pull a polite and completely fake smile on his face, knowing from experience, that such untamed specimen would more likely react aggressively on too demonstrative friendliness than on a complete lack of any emotions thereof. 

“Che.” Kitten frowned deeper and started frantically searching his pockets, the crease between his thin brows getting even deeper ― he was definitely itching for a fight, and Sammy internally called for all the gods he had ever heard of but never believed in, that the boy didn’t pick a fight with the Guy-with-a-gun-under-his-coat. Sammy stole a glance at the said guy, but today’s first customer seemed completely uninterested in anything that was happening outside the screen of his laptop. 

Several metal coins were slammed in Sammy’s outstretched hand, that, not expecting such force, slammed in response in the counter’s surface, Sammy hissed between his teeth, turning back to the Angry Kitten ― the boy’s name asked for an update ― who was smirking and looking at Sammy with challenge in green eyes. A stray coin slipped from Sammy’s fingers and rolled to the edge of the counter, falling on the floor and spinning mockingly.

Sammy sighed, threw a sour smile at the boy and bent over to pick up the coin.

The front door opened again when Sammy got a hold of the coin, and a slightly raspy  _ “I’m hungry, what do you have?” _ followed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, drop me a line in the comments to let me know what you think, it will make my day! ^_^
> 
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